


Sick

by Crockzilla



Series: Domesti-Kink with Spideypool [30]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Age Play, Hurt/Comfort, Little!Wade, M/M, Mild Gore, Non-Sexual Age Play, Spider-mom, Vomiting, Wade Whump, Whump, do not eat space slugs you guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 07:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13542288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crockzilla/pseuds/Crockzilla
Summary: Wade eats something that doesn't agree with him. Spider-mom makes it better.





	Sick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notlucy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notlucy/gifts).



> This is NOT what I was supposed to post today, but I wrote it forever ago for notlucy when she had food poisoning.
> 
> You don't need to have read the rest of the series to enjoy this one -- just know that sometimes Wade is Little and Peter is his Spider-mom (set up in "Small").

“Are you sure you feel okay?” asked sweet little angel-faced Kamala Khan who had quickly become one of Wade’s favorite humans and who he wanted very much to introduce to Ellie because he felt they would be super best buds. “I don’t know if you’re, like, _supposed_ to eat inter-dimensional slugs.”

“Got rid of ‘em, didn’t it?” Wade quipped. It had also made Clint _and_ Tony gag out loud (Tony had said he’d actually thrown up a little in his mouth) so totes worth the unpleasant texture in Wade’s book. “ ‘Sides, I’ve got a better healing factor than Knife-Fists-McGee -- I’m sure they’ll see their way out of my system with little fanfare.”

Kamala told him that was gross and to have a good night as she set him down on his and Peter’s fire escape where she’d very nicely dropped him off. As his little companion shrunk down to her actual height and he waved her off, Wade wondered what it would be like if Peter could grow and shrink himself at will. Mmm.

He had made it inside their sweet apartment and had gotten the stand mixer out to make lemon-bars as a surprise post-crime-fighting snack for when Spidey arrived home, when he felt a strange sensation in his stomach.

Ruh-roh. Perhaps he hadn’t quite chomped the head off of one of those slugs before swallowing it. He punched at his churning tummy a couple of times, and that seemed to do the trick. He went back to gathering milk and eggs from the fridge, humming a cheery tune as he worked.

And then he felt it again, a weird, tremulous sensation in his stomach, but this time it was accompanied by a noise.

Wade had exactly point-five seconds to set the egg carton safely on the counter before he was puking his literal guts out into the sink.

Huh, he thought as he lay slumped against the counter, using all of the energy left in his body to hose his own blood and intestinal matter down their garbage disposal with the dish sprayer -- maybe you’re _not_ supposed to eat inter-dimensional space sluggies.

He could feel his guts re-growing, had felt them doing so even as he’d been apparently throwing them up. So – nothing his faithful Deadpool-healing couldn’t handle, just an unavoidable bi-product. Surely that part was over and he’d feel up to baking in no time. Perhaps if he took a moment to lay on the couch.

He barely made it to the bathroom before he was spewing his newly-grown insides in violent, painful heaves.

*~*~*

Wade’s phone dibbled. He used eighty-percent of his energy store to tilt it up enough to see Peter’s text.

_Hi babe this is taking a minute nothing scary just lots of clean up did u guys have these slugs? be home in a few hours luv u_

No exclamation points meant Spidey was very busy. He thought about using the remaining twenty-percent of his energy store to call Peter and warn him not to eat the slugs, but he realized that such a thing would probably never occur to his beloved. The thought made the self-loathing roiling inside of him even worse.

Wade curled on his side, but that made the aching worse, so he let himself roll onto his back again. He hadn’t thrown up in a bit, but he was staying on the floor in the bathroom just in case, though the cold tile did nothing to alleviate his misery. What the fuck? Cancer, sure, but not space slug stomach flu? Really?

A few hours. He could stand a few hours. He’d been tortured by more amoral shadow organizations than you could shake a stick at.

He heard himself let out a pitiful groan that ended in a whimper. Nothing – _nothing –_ was quite like food poisoning. It had just been so long since he’d had food poisoning that he’d forgotten. He clutched the hand towel that he’d used to wipe his own guts off of his chin, because it was the softest thing he could reach, and he ached for comfort almost as much as his body ached from dry-heaving.

He wanted Peter.

No. Much as the thought made him feel hot with shame, he knew he wanted someone a bit more particular than that.

He clutched at the hand towel with all the energy left in his body and wished for his Spider-mom.

*~*~*

“I’m home!” Peter announced as he slid in through the fire escape, hoping to see his fella waiting for him (possibly wearing pearls? Was it too late at night for 50s house-wife play?) Instead, he saw their eggs out on the sink and a dish towel on the floor. Weird.

“Babe?”

The groan that came from the direction of the bathroom made Peter’s heart nearly stop. He flew to the bathroom faster than even he knew he could move, but the sight just increased his terror – Wade, on the floor, covered in blood.

“ ‘m okay,” Wade slurred out as Peter desperately searched for the source of the wound where he needed to apply pressure. No matter how many times he saw Wade heal from a mortal injury he would never stop applying first aid if he could.

“You don’t look okay,” Peter said, cradling Wade’s head as he continued feeling over his body with one hand.

“Threw up,” Wade said, his voice cracking pitifully. “Space slugs. I ate some.”

Peter would deal with that particular piece of information (and the accompanying mental image) later. Right now, as he looked at his love’s face, he realized that a) he was not actually dying, but just felt like it and b) he was hovering over a very particular headspace.

“You poor thing,” Peter soothed, fully propping up Wade’s torso to pull him half into his lap. “Are you still nauseated?”

Wade shook his head. “Just tired. Achy. I’ll be okay, Honey Bunch.”

Of course. Of course he was going to fight this, try to tough it out. How very Wade of him.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” Peter said, shifting his body in a very subtle approximation of a rocking motion. “I missed you so much. I don’t like crime-fighting without you.”

Wade weakly squeezed his knee. “Missed you. But I was okay – ‘m a big boy.”

There was a brief, awkward silence as they both contemplated how much that was not precisely true at the moment. “Throwing up is the worst, though,” Peter gently prodded. “It’s, like, especially awful to have to handle that by yourself.”

Wade shrugged a bit, but didn’t contradict him. He looked even paler than he had moments ago, or maybe Peter’s eyes were playing tricks because he was worried. He wished his guy would just let go, let him take care of him. It would make them both feel better.

Peter took a breath. He was possibly over-playing his hand, but he had to try. “If it was me,” he said, quietly, “I’d want my Dadpool.”

Wade didn’t say anything, didn’t look at him. Just when Peter was despairing that he’d pushed too much and now Wade would shut down and absolutely not let himself be Little, he abruptly sat up, pulling himself out of Peter’s arms and flinging himself at the toilet. Peter managed to react and get to him as he was filling the bowl with blood.

“Don’t look at this, babe,” Wade pleaded, miserably, trying to wipe blood from his mouth with his wrist.

“I’ve seen worse,” Peter lied, grabbing a soft towel and wetting it with warm water. He managed to clean off Wade’s mouth and arm before he started spewing up blood again.

After that one, he didn’t try to say anything. After the next round, which was just dry heaving, he stopped trying to hold himself up, leaning his weight against Peter, exhausted. Peter held him, rocking ever so slightly as they sat curled up on the bathroom floor together.

“You’re okay, baby,” Peter said after enough time had passed that he was relatively confident that the vomiting was over. “Can I please clean you up and then we can snuggle and rest?”

He felt Wade freeze, then felt fingers twine weakly into the material of his t-shirt. Peter’s heart actually broke into multiple pieces, and he pressed a kiss against his poor guy’s head.

He wiped up all of the remaining blood and got them both into clean, comfy clothes. Wade was super brave and did not actually cry (thank goodness because Peter wasn’t sure his heart could take that on top of everything else) but he kind of whimpered and whined throughout the process, keeping one hand twisted in Peter’s clothing at all times.

“I was so scared when I didn’t know where you were,” Peter intimated as he carried his love into the bedroom. “I knew you wouldn’t leave eggs on the counter unless it was something really bad.”

“ ‘s gonna make you lemon bars,” Wade said in the smallest, saddest voice Peter had ever heard.

“You poor thing,” Peter comforted, laying his precious cargo gently on the bed and pulled the blanket up over him. “Will you be okay here for a second while I grab some stuff to make you feel better?”

Wade looked terribly unhappy at the thought of Spider-mom leaving his side, but he nodded. “My brave boy,” Peter praised, stroking his cheek. “Right back.”

Moments later, they were curled up together in bed with lime-flavored soda (that Peter was very excited to have found in the back of the fridge), plain crackers, and some tiny slices of cheddar cheese that were for later when the crackers stayed down. Peter lay propped up against the headboard, his little one’s head rested on his chest, holding his tablet in front of them so they could watch some horrible movie that Wade had picked on Netflix. It was perfect.

“How d’you feel?” he asked, looking down so he could see his baby’s face. Wade was looking decidedly less miserable, though he still seemed very weak. He was very little now, but he was happy about it instead of seemingly ashamed of it like he’d been earlier, a sweet, carefree smile on his face as he looked up at his Spider-mom.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Peter said, squeezing his little guy closer, making him hum happily, “but you’re okay now. You just needed your mama, huh?”

Wade nodded into his chest, hand still curled in his shirt, and he soon fell asleep that way, leaving Peter to suffer through the rest of the terrible movie (which was actually so bad it was entertaining). He carefully extricated himself enough to put their drinks and snacks and the tablet on the nightstand, then situated them both under the covers, tucking his baby’s head securely under his chin. The sun was coming up, but he had a feeling they would both sleep for a while.

*~*~*

Peter blinked his eyes open and could immediately tell that the sun was well up in the sky, which he hated, but he also felt somewhat rested, which was nice. He then realized he’d fallen asleep with his little fella, who had been sick and who was no longer in the bed.

Just as he sat up in a slight panic, Big Wade came into the bedroom – a tray full of freshly-baked lemon bars in his hands.

“Good morning, Spider-mama,” he said, kissing Peter gratefully as he sat opposite him on the bed. “Brunch?”

“Are you okay?” Peter asked as he stuffed a still-warm bar into his mouth cuz wow was he hungry suddenly. “No more literally puking your guts out?”

“I feel awesome, actually,” Wade straightened, looking relatively majestic in his baking-apron. “Thanks to you.”

Peter kissed him again because he was still a bit in so-glad-you’re-not-dead mode. “I would have taken care of you if you’d stayed big, but I’m really glad you aged down. You seemed like you wanted to.”

“I did,” Wade said, earnestly, for once not trying to cover or excuse how much he’d enjoyed being little for a brief while. “I’d been laying on the floor trying not to for hours like an absolute moron.”

Peter’s heart had evidently not totally broken the previous night because it did now. “Jesus, babe,” he said, mournfully, “why didn’t you text me? I would’ve come home, Carol and Dr. Strange could’ve handled the slugs on our side of town.”

Wade shrugged, not even trying to pardon his own behavior. “I know what I’d do to you if I came home and found out you’d been sick and hadn’t text me, like a stubborn stubborn-pants,” he said, taking a suggestive bite of his lemon bar.

And now this was happening. Peter felt a familiar swooping anticipation in his stomach. “Oh, really?”

“Yes,” Wade said, quickly scarfing the rest of his bar. “But first, so that you can properly punish me for all of my poor choices last night, allow me to tell you the story of Wade Wilson and Why We Don’t Eat Inter-Dimensional Aliens of Any Sort.”

Peter shook his head, laughing in spite of himself as Wade stood and stretched, preparing to fully act out his cautionary tale. He settled in with a lemon bar – it was going to be another odd, lovely day in the Wilson-Parker household.

**Author's Note:**

> I shall endeavor to get back on schedule now with the request cue, and I shall try to get out one floofy age play and one smutty kink fill per week!
> 
> Next up: Uncle Steve hangs out with Lil Wade and Lil Peter, and Professor Peter gives his favorite student some private tutoring!
> 
> Tumble meeee: crockzilla.tumblr.com


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